Tuesday, August 8, 2017

Charles Simic / Hotel Insomnia

I liked my little hole,Its window facing a brick wall.Next door there was a piano.A few evenings a montha crippled old man came to play"My Blue Heaven."

Mostly, though, it was quiet.Each room with its spider in heavy overcoatCatching his fly with a webOf cigarette smoke and revery.So dark,I could not see my face in the shaving mirror.

At 5 A.M. the sound of bare feet upstairs.The "Gypsy" fortuneteller,Whose storefront is on the corner,Going to pee after a night of love.Once, too, the sound of a child sobbing.So near it was, I thoughtFor a moment, I was sobbing myself.